


Torch Song

by romanticalgirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, did you ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torch Song

He’s not seen him for months, which would bother him if he thought to let it, but he instead hasn’t given him much thought. There has been too much else going on, too many things that need doing under cover of darkness.

Which is a lie, but one he permits himself to tell. Since the first time, the first night, he’s lost himself in whatever darkness he can find, hiding in places where no one he knows would think to look, brandishing wand and words until the black corners are filled with light, no matter how dim.

The streetlights burn a hazy yellow above him and he squints against the dull glare, shifting uncomfortably in the cold. Wind whips through the narrow cobblestone alleyways, tugging at his threadbare coat and sliding daggers of ice beneath his skin. He puts his head down and walks, moving forward though he’s not sure if he’s getting anywhere.

The sounds of rowdy adults and teenagers pretending surrounds him as the doors of pubs spill open, dance clubs littering sweaty, sparkled and leathered bodies around him. He weaves between them, not hearing the calls or the insults, his head down, shoulders hunched.

He keeps walking, faster and faster until he’s breathless, until the smell hits him and stops him dead in his tracks.

No one in Britain drinks coffee, yet the smell is almost overpowering. It smells like Sirius’s breath on a lazy morning, tastes like his tongue on the slow slide of seduction. Remus’s body quivers in memory and he turns, ignoring the few gathered outside the door and pushing his way in to the overheated, overfull room.

He weaves his way through bodies, sliding between them with predatory grace, the haunting sound pounding along with his heart as he approaches the stage, the solitary figure seated on a three-legged stool. The too-long hair frames his face, the heat of the spotlight glimmers across the beads of perspiration that lace his forehead. His arms are different, stronger, muscles moving beneath the skin as he plays, flesh slick and warm, fingers gliding over strings and frets.

With a toss of his head, his hair shifts and his mouth moves, layering sensuous words in the heady air. Remus steps backwards, not at all surprised as the movement catches his eye and he looks his way, a sly curve tilting the corner of his mouth in acknowledgement as he turns back to the song. Remus finds a stool behind him and manages to sit on it, turning away from the stage and ordering something alcoholic and strong and drinking it at once. It’s like fire in his throat, meeting the slow burn that started when he first smelled coffee, meeting the spark that caught when those green-gray eyes found his.

The song ends and there’s applause that he barely hears as he orders another drink and drains it as quickly as the first. The smell of leather permeates the air around him as the crowd shifts and parts, as a firm hand settles in the small of his back, as he leans forward and orders a hot tea with lemon. His voice is raspy and thick, as scratchy as stubble on Remus’s flesh.

“Hullo, Remus.” He doesn’t look at him as he takes a sip from his cup, turning his back to the bar, nodding and smiling his thanks as people offer him compliments on his song. Another performer takes the small stage, a woman this time, her voice pure and haunting though he barely hears her.

“Rupert.” The name sounds strange in his ears, past the roaring of his blood.

Giles finishes his tea and sets the cup on the bar behind him. “It was good. To see you again.”

“It was…” Remus stops as Giles walks away, his long hair brushing the collar of his coat, the guitar case in his hand.

**

He follows at a distance, still unsure of what he’s doing and why. The card Giles had given him remains in his wallet next to a tattered letter of recommendation from Dumbledore. The shadows stay to the side of the alleyways as they make their way down them, the aura of danger they exude nothing compared to the sheer power that echoes off the man he follows, nothing like that he radiates himself.

Giles turns and hurries up a set of rickety wooden steps, his long leather coat swaying in his wake, the scent overpowering that of urine and beer and garbage. Remus follows him up, never looking down, never looking back as Giles moves in through a darkened doorway. He catches the wood as it swings back, his fingers keeping it from closing as he slips inside.

The first thing he smells is fire and incense and magic, his hackles rising at the combination. He stands in the half-light of the room, watching the flames of the candles flicker against the bare walls as Giles sheds his coat, letting it fall across a stack of books. His shirt is white cotton, looks worn and soft to the touch. Remus’s heart jerks and his cock jerks and he lifts his chin.

Giles turns and looks at him, smiles slowly. With deliberation, he watches Remus as he carefully undoes every button of his shirt, pulling the fabric free of his jeans. His chest is golden in the light, the flames reflecting off gold and brown hairs as he pushes the material apart. He undoes his belt and lets the leather whistle as it slides free of the loops on his hips.

Remus’s hands clench at his sides and he continues to stare defiantly, his pulse pounding at the base of his throat. Giles smiles and moves in, his tongue pressing against the hard beat for a moment before he moves away again. He undoes the top button of his jeans and sits on the low sofa, kicking up his feet so that the black, motorcycle boots land solidly on the unbalanced table. His eyes are bright in the flickering light. “Come here.”

Remus doesn’t move other than to lift his chin and Rupert smiles knowingly. Getting to his feet, the heavy boots clattering on the floor, he walks over to a short counter that serves to separate the living room from what is supposedly the kitchen. He catches a decanter of brandy by the neck and pulls the top from it, the crystal blazing in the candlelight.

“No, hmmm?” He walks around Remus with a predatory grace of his own, the scent of brandy wafting around them both. “But you followed me.” He moves back to the low sofa and sits, stealing a glass from another table and filling it before setting the decanter on his chest. “So I doubt you mean it.”

“You’re different.”

“Hmm? Yes. I suppose I am.” He smiles, dark and dangerous. “But then, so are you.” His eyes are piercing as he stares at Remus, stares through him. “Not so unsure, not so innocent, not so wounded.” He pauses then shakes his head. “More wounded.”

“I’m going.”

Giles sets the decanter aside. Remus watches as he toasts him, tipping the glass and letting the amber liquid trickle onto his bare chest. Heat kicks Remus squarely in the stomach then slides lower in defeat, coiling around the base of his cock. Rupert’s smile slides seductively across his lips as his finger circles a brandy-soaked nipple. “Come here.”

Remus moves stiffly, his body fighting against the little resistance his mind shouts out at him. Giles’s feet rest on the floor, spread apart so that Remus can see the slight rip just below the crotch of his jeans, pale skin hinted at through frayed white cotton threads. He kneels one knee between Giles’s parted legs and looks down at the other man, doing his best to ignore the smirk of triumph as he places a hand on the back of the sofa on either side of his head and leans down, inhaling the brandy before he slides his tongue over one hard, flat nipple and tastes it.

Giles makes a soft noise, purring in satisfaction. A tawny lion on the savannah flashes through Remus’s mind as he circles the nub with his tongue then worries it lightly with his teeth. Giles’s response deepens, becomes more of a groan as Remus moves to the other side of his chest, offering the same treatment to the other nipple.

Giles’s hands begins moving, rubbing over Remus’s thighs, rasping on the denim for a moment before they slide up his legs, over his hips, rubbing long circles on his thighs. “I’m going to fuck you this time, Remus. Slide my cock inside you, thrust hard and fast until you come, hips jerking helplessly.” He lets one hand move up Remus’s back into his hair, pulling his head back, smiling at the surrender in Remus’s eyes. “You want that, don’t you? Someone to take away all the responsibility, all the decision.” He licks Remus’s lips. “You want someone to do all the punishing for you.”

“You don’t know what I want,” Remus assures him, his hard tone dissolving into a groan as Rupert’s hand finds his cock, the hard flesh thrusting traitorously into the curl of his fingers.

“Don’t I? It’s written across your face clearer than the scars.” He traces the silvered flesh, smiling darkly as Remus flinched away. “Take off your clothes, Remus.”

“No.”

His hand squeezes slightly, the pressure on Remus’s cock building until the surrender bubbles on his lips. He jerks away and stands shakily, his fingers trembling as well as he unbuttons his shirt and drops it to the floor. “You’re too thin.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

“Turn around.”

“Fuck you.”

“No,” Rupert reminds him, his voice softer now, seductive. “I’ve already told you that won’t be the case.” He stands and crowds Remus, his hand unfastening Remus’s belt as he leans in and whispers in his ear. “Take off your clothes.”

Remus’s breath catches in his chest and he undoes his jeans, stepping away from Rupert to pull off his socks and trainers, stepping cautiously on the circle of carpet that extends from beneath the table. “I just wanted to apologize for not contacting you. I saw you…”

“And you wanted me to fuck you.” Giles leans in and inhales the scent of arousal highlighted by fear emanating from Remus. “It was burning in your eyes.” He bit the air beside Remus’s ear. “You taste of magic.”

“You haven’t tasted me.” Remus snaps his mouth closed, trying to bite back the words. Rupert’s low laugh fills the room as he leans in, his tongue finding the hollow behind Remus’s ear, pressing against his pulse. Remus’s hands clench into fists, his entire body stiffening as Rupert’s hand slips beneath his jeans, fingers wrapping around his cock in earnest.

“I want you to stand here,” his voice is feline and predatory as he strokes Remus’s shaft, fingers light against the skin. “Stand here and don’t move.”

Remus freezes as though he’s been hit with a Petrificus spell, motionless as Rupert slides his jeans down his legs and kneels before him. He stares down at him, watches as the smile disappears and he licks his lips hungrily, leaning in just enough to brush Remus’s cock with the tip of his tongue. Remus’s body jerks and Rupert’s hands settle on his hips, his voice rolling over Remus’s erection, stilling him again as his mouth follows, wet heat surrounding Remus’s erection, the velvet slide of Rupert’s tongue painting his flesh.

His legs shake as Rupert’s thumbs trace circles on his skin, smoothing over the flat plane that angles down toward his cock. He closes his eyes and curls his hands into fists, fighting the urge to reach out and seize fistfuls of hair. Rupert pulls back and laughs low in his throat, mocking and taunting. Remus catches his breath and shakes his head. “Enough.”

“Not nearly.” Rupert stands and presses close to Remus, his naked chest exuding heat despite the coolness of the room. His breath feathers over Remus’s skin like a silken threat. “Unless you want me to stop. Walk away.” He nips at the pale skin of Remus’s shoulder. “Just say the magic word.”

Remus’s body shudders as Rupert’s hands find his hips and turn him, pushing him toward the wall. He stumbles over his jeans, shedding them in the few steps it takes before he’s pressed up against the shedding wallpaper.

“Nothing to say?” Rupert’s voice echoes along Remus’s spine. His knee forces Remus’s legs apart and his body is hard and tight against him, his cock pressed to Remus’s arse. “Have you forgotten the magic word?” He mutters soft words against the nape of Remus’s neck and the candles around them flare brightly, purple smoke oozing from the flames. “Or do you just want this.”

“I…”

“Admit it,” Rupert’s voice is hazy and faint, insistent as it clouds Remus’s head along with the smoke. “You want this.”

“I…”

“Admit it.” His voice fades until it’s nothing more than a memory in Remus’s mind, even that pushed aside by the ache and throb of his cock, the pulse of the cock against his arse.

“I…yes.”

There’s a low growl that makes Remus whimper, the sound transfiguring into a groan as there’s heat and wet and then hard pushing inside him slowly. His fingers dig into the wall, his face turned to the side as Rupert’s cock fills him. His knees shake and he leans harder against the plaster and wallpaper, the dank smell of decay and glue filling his nostrils. His hand shakes as fingers dig into his hips, pulling him back with every forward thrust. He releases the wall and finds his cock, stroking it in time with Rupert’s thrusts, inhaling the pungent purple smoke. His muscles twitch with every movement, his body feels every touch. His hair stands on end and his nerves dance with sensation. His cock is harder and Rupert’s cock is deeper and he’s begging for mercy or praying for release or asking for absolution until the light flares again and he sinks to his knees, his arse and hands sticky with release.

He stays there for a long moment, his sense on fire. He turns his head to see Rupert on the couch, cocky and assured and sated. His eyes are narrowed and glowing with magic and lust and power. Power over him.

Remus manages to make his way to his feet, feeling in his coat for his wand. He doesn’t watch Rupert’s eyes as he cleans himself off, dressing slowly. The light is dimmer than before but still sharp enough to catch the glimmer in Rupert’s eye. “I take it you’ve severed ties with your father then.”

Rupert smiles at the crystal glass in his hand. “What makes you say that?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Intuition?” Remus tugs his shirt on over his head and reaches for his coat. Rupert reaches out and snags his arm, holding him by the wrist. “No need to run, Remus. There’s still more fun to be had.” He glances in the shadows of the hallway, and Remus doesn’t have to look to know someone’s standing there. “Lots more fun.”

“I think I’ve had all the fun I can stand.” He frees his hand easily. “Goodnight, Rupert.” He tilts his head toward the hallway. “Give my regrets to your friend.”

“Don’t worry.” Remus turns to see the man in the shadows, his dark hair falling in his face, his features etched with cut glass, his lips full and sensual and his eyes as black as the hole burned in Remus’s soul by a blinding flash of light. “Ripper and I will manage.” He walks into the room and sinks down onto the couch beside Rupert, his body like a sleek jaguar next to Rupert’s lion. “We always do.”  



End file.
